


Starboy

by thestarkerverse



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Popstar, Angst, Bottom Peter Parker, Established Relationship, Fluff, Good Friend Ned Leeds, M/M, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker-centric, Precious Peter Parker, Starker, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Top Tony Stark, Virgin Peter Parker, popstar peter parker, rockstar tony stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2020-09-23 05:57:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20335213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarkerverse/pseuds/thestarkerverse
Summary: This story is told from dual perspectives - which means that each chapter will either be told by Peter or Tony.Peter is a famous pop star who has just found his big break with the release of his debut album titled: The Lost Hours. The story starts out with him just getting off of his first big tour and getting back into the studio to record some new music and release a few singles.And it’s at the studio where he meets rock/alternative musician Tony Stark who is just about to finish recording his new album: The Dark Side.Peter seems innocent enough. And innocence just so happens to be something Tony likes in his men. And he wants to get close to him. See if he’ll let the bad guy in.





	1. Chapter 1

**PETER**

Peter wished that things could be different sometimes. Well, all the time. He wished that his label would listen to him, his ideas, and just all ina all let him feel as if they cared about what he thought. He wanted to be able to write his own songs, but they wouldn't even let him do that. And co-writing wasn't even really co-writing. He was usually just made to sit there while the other person he was meant to be working with just asked him what he thought about something, and then just completely ignored his input on what had been asked.

And today was no exception. He was sat on a couch next to someone who didn't respect him at all and barely even spared a glance in his direction. Peter heaved a heavy sigh and through himself back again the back of the couch. He was tired of being treated like this. But what could he do about it exactly? Nothing sprang to mind. And in reality, he was too scared to do something. He didn't want to lose his record deal, but if they would just take the time to hear him out and maybe let him write at least some of his own songs they could come to some sort of compromise. But the label wasn't interested in anything like that.

They wanted him to be as generic and picture-perfect as possible. Peter didn't want that. He wanted to be able to express himself the way he wanted to, but he was halted by the powers that be. The head of his label and the producers and record execs that make all that he worked so hard to achieve possible. 

Sometimes Peter wonders if it was all worth the trouble. And it was. It is. At least that's what he tells himself, forces himself to think.

"Okay," said Bucky--the man he was "co-writing" the new song with. "Let's run through this bad boy, get a feel for the lyrics, and then if you feel comfortable enough I guess we can record sample vocals over me playing the piano."

"Oh, okay," said Peter. They had never done it this way before. Usually, they just wrote the song, played around with some instrumentals and then when Bucky thought that they had a decent enough beat, he'd have Peter run through the song a few times with the backtrack playing, and then they'd record the vocals.

It was a very unorthodox way to go about doing things. But he didn't have much say-so over the matter. He was just there to do as he was told, sit still and look pretty.

"He only has time to run through it for another hour and then I have to get him back. He promised his Aunt that they would have dinner together."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh my God!" he said. "Thanks, Nat I completely forgot about that." Before he could fully get the words out of his mouth he was already gathering his things to leave. "Come on Nat."

"Uh . . . Peter!” said Nat, calling after him.

He didn’t listen; he just kept going making his way out of the small studio room and into the hall. He moved frantically, trying to make his way out of the building as fast as he could. He was practically running. So much so that he didn’t even know how fast he was going, and before he knew it it was already too late. There was a crash of bodies colliding chest against chest, and then he was on the ground on top of someone. He was too busy trying to catch his breath to even notice. The impact had knocked it out of him.

When he finally came back down to reality the first thing his eyes caught sight of was the man under him. He looked to be only a few years older than Peter.

Peter stared down at him for a few moments before realization set in and he scrambled to his feet, then helped the unknown man to his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he found himself saying. “I was in a rush. But that’s no excuse, I should have been watching where I was going. . . . Again, I’m so sorry.” There was a crimson heat-filled blush that had taken over his cheeks. He was so embarrassed.

The man smirked at him as he spouted out apology after apology. He finally spoke when Peter abruptly stopped speaking. “It’s all right,” he said, holding out a hand. Peter looked down at it. His nails were painted a deep black color, and on his wrist there was an ‘NC’ tattoo in black ink. It stood for _Non Compliant _that much Peter knew for sure.

Peter took it hesitantly. “I’m Peter,” he said. “Peter Parker.”

“Ah,” said the man. “I’ve heard you’re music before. It comes on the radio a lot. I like it, it’s cute. . . . Oh, I’m Tony by the way.”

At Tony’s words Peter could feel his blush deepening. “Thanks,” he said, turning his gaze to something other than the floor. He sneakily gave Tony a quick once over, taking in his features and what he was wearing. He had on some black eyeliner, which really brought out his hazel eyes. And for clothes he was wearing a white Misfits shirt, black ripped skinny jeans, and white converse.

It was the kind of look that Peter wished he could pull off, but he knew that didn’t match his personality. He was angsty sure, but he was much too happy-go-lucky most days.

“Tony . . . ” said Peter. “Tony Stark.” he added a moment later. “I’ve heard some of your music. Yeah, my friend Mj loves you.”

Tony smiled. “That’s good to hear,” he replied. “Do you want me sign anything or something for her?”

“Actually, yeah. That’d be great. And then she’ll bully me into trying to let her meet you.”

Tony laughed, pulling out a sharpie from his back pocket. Peter opens his backpack to look for something that Tony could sign. “Ugh,” he said, rifling through his bag. “I don’t think . . . Actually, here!” He pulled out his songbook opened it to a blank page, which is something he would have never done if it weren’t for the fact that Tony was already ready to sign something for him.

With a flourish Tony signed his name. Peter expected him to hand it back right then and there, but he didn’t. He closed the book and stared down at the words etched in chaotic script on the front: Peter’s Songbook.

“You write your own songs. That’s admirable.”

“Well,” Peter stumbled, searching for the right words. “Well, yes and no. I do write my own songs, but the label won’t use them.”

Tony heaved a sigh and handed Peter back his songbook. “That’s a shame,” he said. “You should stand up for yourself. You shouldn’t take shit from anyone. I’ll see you later, Peter.”

Peter opened his mouth, wanting to say something but he didn’t know what. So instead he settled for a half-hearted ‘goodbye.’


	2. Chapter 2

**PETER**

Peter Parker was every teenage girl and boys wet dream. It was fun, but also exhausting. He had been on tour for the better part of a year and a half now, and even when he wasn’t onstage he could still hear the sounds of screaming fans rumbling incessantly in his ears.

It made him simultaneously miss being on the road and drive him crazy. It drove him crazy because it made it hard to sleep at night. He liked to blame it on the jetlag, but he knew that that wasn’t the case. He wished it were though.

He threw the covers off of his lower half and pushed himself out of bed. If he couldn’t sleep, then he would just have to find himself something to do. There was no way he was just going to lie in bed and look up at the ceiling like he didn’t have anything better to do.

He grabbed his songbook from his nightstand and a black ballpoint pen, then made his way out onto his bedroom balcony. Whenever he was home it was the place he wrote most of his songs. He liked it out on the balcony because he could feel the wind ghosting across his skin as he wrote and the smell of the fresh air kept him feeling less suffocated like he would if he were to have stayed inside. He was the type of person who couldn’t stay in one place for too long. He always had to be doing something, otherwise, his mind would start to wander thinking up all of the things that he could be doing.

With a heavy sigh, he opened his songbook to a blank page and put pen to paper, putting everything he was feeling onto the page. When he finished he felt better. Like he had been relieved of a heavy burden he hadn’t even known had been placed upon him.

He took in a heavy deep breath then let it out slowly. He placed the weight of his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He could feel the clutches of sleep finally reaching out for him and welcomed it with every fiber of his being. With the last remaining semblance of energy he had left, he gathered his things and made his way back to his room. He fell into bed and fell into unconsciousness before he had even hit the pillow. And he dreamed of nothing.

When he woke a few hours later it was to hands shaking him roughly and he groaned, turning onto his back and looking up at the blank face of his manager Natasha Romanov that greeted him.

“What?” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I thought that the point of being on a break was that I could rest as long as I pleased.”

“You’re on a break, Parker,” Natasha replied, grabbing the songbook and pen from Peter’s nightstand. “Not hiatus. If you wanted to sleep and laze around like some pompous ass then you’d have called for a hiatus. Which is very ill-advised, you’re still extremely new to the industry. Which means you’re easy to forget and still have a lot to prove. You called for a break, which means you’re no longer touring and you’re home. That doesn’t mean you no longer have responsibilities that need tending to. So get your ass up, we’re going to the studio.”

Peter watched her retreating form as she left the room. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to talk to your talent like that!” he called after her. And in lieu of a response, she flashed him the finger.

Peter heaved an exasperated sigh and pushed himself of bed. _Guess I'm going to the studio._

* * *

Peter's debut album The Lost Hours. The one that came out before the one he is recording now.

Tony Stark's last album before he went on a two-year hiatus.


	3. Chapter 3

**TONY**

Tony heaved a heavy sigh. Two years is a long time for someone to be on hiatus. Two years longer than he had really planned to be, but after he finished The Dark Side World Tour he was so drained he couldn’t even think about getting back into the studio without feeling a swell of anxiety course through him.

He loved music and he loved touring. But The Dark Side had been one of the hardest albums he had ever conceived. It was full of raw and gut-wrenching tracks that held every emotion he had ever felt over the course of that time in his life. He had put every piece of himself into that album to where he eventually felt numb to the pain they caused him when he performed any of them live.

After that day in the studio, where he had spent grueling hours trying to figure out which tracks he wanted to keep and which ones he wanted to put to the side, he couldn't stop thinking about the boy he had run into in the hall. Peter. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about him when he got home, and the short but sweet conversation they had had. He had liked the way his name had fallen so effortlessly off the boy's tongue. He kept thinking about his and Peter's encounter so much that he found himself looking up the boy on Apple Music just to hear his voice once more.

He had only put out one album. Tony didn't know why he had expected for there to be more than one, but there was a four-track extended play called Notes that came almost a full year before his debut album. Tony listened to it first, then moved onto The Lost Hours. He liked it a lot more then Notes, the tone of the album was a lot darker than the EP, but the EP was a lot more raw and you feel the emotion he felt while writing/recording it.

His favorite song though would have to be The Midnight Hours. It was risky starting off an album with a "sad" song, but it fit almost too perfectly. Peter's soft voice wrapping around melancholy notes.

Tony's favorite part of the song had to be--

"Lost  
in the midnight hours.  
About to lose my mind.

Misguided steps  
guided by misguided ghosts.

Take me home . . ."

\--it was sung almost entirely in head voice, soft and invoking a feeling of sadness and wanting to find a way to some sort of safe haven.

Peter's music wasn't the type Tony would usually be into. But he wasn't like all the other brainwashed pop stars out there. He had depth, and you could hear sprinkled all throughout the album. Even in the songs that were clearly written just for the sake of radio play.

* * *

That night Tony fell asleep listening to The Midnight Hours on repeat. Peter's voice lulling him into a blissful sleep. It had to be the best night's sleep Tony had had in a long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Tony spent all of the next days in his home studio, writing and producing beats for new tracks that could potentially go on the new album he was recording, even though he was almost finished with it already. He’d had enough time over the last two years to compile enough songs for maybe three or four albums.

Writing was his therapy. He did it almost every day. It was the way he got out all of the emotions he kept bottled up inside because there was no one he could really talk to, no one he could really trust besides himself. All the trust he had put into anyone besides himself had been broken. And he didn't feel like putting his trust into some therapist he had to pay just to pretend to care about him and his problems.

He sat on the comfort of his black leather couch, a fluffy blanket thrown over him haphazardly, and his feet were propped up on a footrest. His laptop rested in his lap, black words in small type-font filled the screen. It was a longshot that the song would even make it on the album since he only needed to record a few more songs, but he didn't as passionate about some of the songs that had been pre-approved as he did the one he was currently writing. He'd just have to talk his management into dropping one of the less-favorable pre-approved tracks in exchange for this one.

Tony took in a deep breath of air, filling his lungs to full capacity then let it out in a long exasperated sigh. He was running on a full night's worth of sleep but he was still tired, and no amount of coffee was strong enough to make him feel awake. He felt as if he were in a constant state of dozing in and out of sleep, never really falling but not actually awake either.

It wasn't until there was a loud knock at the door that he jumped and almost dropped his computer to the floor from the fright that he felt fully awake. He rubbed a hand down the length of his face, taking in a deep breath of air, he pushed his laptop to the side and stood to his feet. He took a moment to stretch, the muscles in his back and shoulders resisting the movement.

He tried to stifle a yawn as he made his way to the door. He didn't even take the time to look through the peep-hole before throwing open the door. He was met by a woman he had seen in passing quite a few times but didn't know personally. Her hair, an overwhelming red was styled immaculately to perfection. The only thing seemingly out of place about her were the bags under her eyes, Tony could tell she was under a lot of stress.

Tony opened his mouth to speak, but before he could fully formulate the words on his lips she spoke first.

"I’m Natasha Romanov, that’s all you need to know about me. I need you to do a song with a kid I manage for his new album _Black Widow_. Apparently he met you in the hall of the Management building, and now he can't stop talking about you. And quite frankly, It's driving me nuts."

Tony stared down at her for a few moments, mulling it over in his head. "What's in it for me? And who is the kid anyway?"

Natasha sucked in a deep breath of air, then let it out slowly, as if the question physically pained her to be asked. "Peter Parker. He’s young, fairly new to industry. But he knows what he wants and I like that about him. So, will you do it or not? There isn’t much the kid can offer you, but the usual percentage of royalties from the track. Not much else, really.”

Tony didn’t have to think. He was in as soon as she had said Peter’s name. He’d be stupid to pass up the offer. He had been listening to The Midnight Hours on repeat every night before he went to sleep, ever since he had first heard. There was just something about Peter’s soft and melancholy voice that drifted him right off to sleep. It was like his own personal lullaby.

And if he wasn’t listening to that, he was listening to The End of the World. There was just something Tony loved about Peter’s voice on the deeper cuts. Sure the more poppy tracks were good, a lot of fun and all, but nothing could beat a track that people could relate to. Everyone has felt sadness, lost, and depressed at some point.

“Of course, I’m in,” replied Tony, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’ll give you my number so you can give it to the kid and he can talk me through the details. Text or call, doesn’t matter to me. But if we’re doing a song together I’d like a clear idea of what he’s thought of so far so that I’m not just coming into the studio blind, and wasting time that could be better used actually writing.”

“Well,” said Natasha. “I can assure you, Peter doesn’t fuck around in the studio. He likes to get shit done.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll definitely do it. Just tell the kid to give me a text or a call and we’ll arrange something.

“Sure.”

With that Natasha turned on her heels and made her way back toward her car, a sleek black mustang with dark red racing strips down the middle. Tony watched as she got in her car, long enough to see her drive away and turn the corner on and onto the main road. Then he himself turned around on his heels and made his way back inside, throwing the door shut behind him.

He didn’t go back to his in-home studio. Instead, he went into the kitchen to fix himself something to eat. He rifled through the cabinets, in search of something, anything, but all he could conjure up was a bag of pretzels and a container of half-eaten hummus.

He poured a serving of chips in a bowl and took it, the hummus, and a bottle of beer with him to the couch. The TV was on, playing a rerun of an episode from Friends. He wasn’t really watching it, just had it on for background noise while he ate. It helped him feel less alone. The house he lived in was big, and living in it alone like he did was daunting at the worst of times. There were days he was fine, the quiet didn’t bother him and he went on without a second thought. Then there were days where the silence was deafening, stifling every breath he took until he was left dry heaving and choking, trying to fill his lungs with air. But it was as if they had been punctured and every breath he took just leaked out of the opening.

On those days that he couldn’t breathe, he’d just lie on the floor and cry. He knew he looked pathetic, but he didn’t care. He just stayed there for hours gasping for air, tears streaming down the length of his face, and if he banged his head against the ground a few times in frustration that was his business and no one else’s.

He sat there on the couch, snacking on pretzels and hummus and washing it down with slowly warming beer. Nothing but the sound of Ross and Rachel arguing in the background and his distant breathing filled the space. At some point he drifted off to sleep, the bag of pretzels and hummus long-forgotten lay beside him. And his empty beer bottle was discarded on the floor.

He’d have to clean it when woke up sometime later.

Peter's new album cover.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic please feel free to leave a comment. I'd love to know your thoughts.  
[ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarkerverse) | [Support me on Ko-Fi](https://ko-fi.com/thestarkerverse)


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